#4 My Prison Break – Part 1

I always felt like I was born straight into prison.

If you have read my first post, you know that I used to love partying – the harder the better.

Even though I do not have a lot of memories of most nights, those were the days. I was living at home and had nothing to worry about. Even if there was something to worry about – I didn’t. Because if you don’t want to be on this planet in the first place, you can live every day as it was your last – and so I did.

My job was nothing but a tool to fund my weekends, football journeys, and excessive online shopping sprees. Even though I didn’t have to pay any rent or bills, the money was never enough. After I had finished my apprenticeship, I got the basic salary and wasn’t given a raise for several years, as I had been a dick to everyone and didn’t care too much about my work.

My parents had split up when I was one and my mother decided to move into my grandparents house again. That way she could go back to work and leave me with my grandma who was a housewife with a side job at the local church.

Imagine me, a teenager in the 90’s who grew up in a southern German, ultra conservative 800-soul-village, raised by my grandma. The generational conflict, not only with my grandparents but basically the whole village would inevitable make me a rebel at some point. That happened in the very last year of the last millennium. I had just turned 17 and decided that I didn’t want to hang out with the guys from the local christian youth group anymore. They were mostly the same people I went to kindergarden and primary school with and for one reason or the other they had always been a lot more into this christianity thing than I would ever be. For the last 2 years the only reason I had went there, was because my mother wouldn’t ask where I was when I came home at 3 am.

I started hanging out with some shady guys I had met on CB radio – yeah, that was still a thing in the late 90’s and I am glad that I grew up before every little brat was running about with a 700-euro smartphone in primary school. I had gotten myself an 80cc motorbike and did not have to rely on the more than crappy bus connection anymore, where the last opportunity to come back home was at 8:20 pm. Having my own transport, drinking beer and smoking weed also seemed to be a far better way to get laid than taking a bus to go and pray with your childhood pals.

From that time on I pretty much drifted into a permanent “I do not give the slightest fuck for anything”-mode that would last for almost a decade.  I haven’t seen the local police station from the inside once, but several times, mostly because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut. To be fair, most of those things would have ended up in fights if I had been living anywhere else. I recall that one time when I called that gentleman with slightly longer hair a “Backstreet Boy” and he reported me to the police for it. Another time I was called on new years eve, 20 minutes before the bells to report to a police station for showing someone the middle finger – insult seems to be a big thing in (that part of) Germany, even though everyone knows that you will never be prosecuted for it.

Anyways, behaving the way I did, it’s rather easy to get casual sex but basically impossible to form a meaningful relationship with anyone and most of my ex-girlfriends will surely be hating me until today. I generally wasn’t much of a lovable person and also did not want to. I wanted to be a badass and generally be mean to people. I think the correct medical term for the kind of person I was is an “utter cunt” and when I walked into any place, people would usually roll their eyes and think “oh no, not him again!”.

“Fun is all that matters in life” has always been my motto and whilst there is nothing wrong with that statement itself, a lot was wrong with the way I was living it (maybe??), but I felt imprisoned by society and didn’t know how to break out just yet. This was my way to make my life sentence more bearable until I would eventually come up with a plan to break out of my prison.

As I already pointed out in a previous post, I started planning my prison break in late 2005, 3 full years before I could finally make it happen, but Rome wasn’t built in a day either and it was absolutely worth taking all that time. It was a real prison break – for the first time I felt really free.

Unlike in Germany, in the UK there is no obligation to register your place of residence with the authorities and there is a lot less bureaucracy in general. Even though I did not have all the security like back in Germany, I felt great for the very first time and life was easy. Apart from not spending all my money on useless crap, in order to be able to afford such things as rent and food, life did not present many challenges. It was almost like doors opened for me wherever I went.

I have seen people doing noisy work in their front garden on a Sundays – something that would have instantly triggered some sad pensioner calling the cops in Germany for sure.

Instead of living and letting die, I could finally live and let live. I had managed to break out!

But like with most people who have been to prison before, the likelihood of returning there was huge…

 

(To be continued)

 

Go to Part 2

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